


All of It (waiting for a bus in the rain)

by AvaRosier



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 14:03:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: Confessions on the Knight Bus, basically.(Alternative Title: The Banging Bus)Theme Two: Fantasy and SciFi





	All of It (waiting for a bus in the rain)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to arsenicpanda for beta'ing this thing on short notice!

“Betty, wait!” Jughead calls out. **  
**

She doesn’t bother turning around because the next roll of thunder brings with it a heavier deluge. October in England means the water is cold as it soaks through her clothes, making her regret not grabbing a coat before they went on the run. 

Betty reaches the end of the sidewalk and glances up and down the dark, deserted street. They’d barely escaped two of the Gargoyle King’s brainwashed minions at the Wayfarers’ Inn back there, and it’s clear they have to get out of town _now_.

“Screw this,” she mutters, pulling her wand out of her dress pocket. Holding it out, she doesn’t have to wait long before being rewarded by a popping noise and the sound of an approaching engine.

Jughead pulls abreast of her, his breath fogging up the air. “We should be staying off the grid,” he grounds out.

She hardly needs the reminder. The Gargoyle Gang are likely using the Tracking Spell to pick up on any traces of magical use. But she and Jughead are also vulnerable out here in the cold and the rain. Her robes are made of a thin midnight blue material, completely unsuitable for any length of time outside.

Neither have been out in the Muggle world extensively enough to know how to survive and hide, let alone how to survive and hide in a foreign country. Of course, they are operating here at the invitation of the Ministry of Magic because they have experience with how _Gryphons & Gargoyles_ can invade and consume a town or a village.

They don’t want another Eldervair.

In the distance, Betty spots the light beams bouncing off a house before the double-decker bus comes rushing around the turn. “I know. But this will get us farther away from the usual wizarding hubs. We can find a place to crash for the night.”

Indecision wars with the need for comfort on his face. Finally, he nods curtly. “Okay. Alright.”

Despite their history, Betty knows she could not have asked for a better Auror to be partnered with. Whatever may be said about the two of them, she and Jughead _do_ make a great team. Even if he’s pissed off at her right now.

Betty sighs with relief just as the bus pulls to a screeching halt in front of them, the doors already opening with a loud squeak. A bored-looking teenager with an ill-fitting uniform steps out and mumbles something about knuts. Betty reaches into her pocket and hands him enough money to cover both tickets.

“No luggage?”

“We’re traveling light,” Jughead drawls from behind her as he follows her up into the bus. Betty sighs with relief that the interior is insulated with heating spells. For a moment, she silently bemoans how frizzy her hair is sure to become. The doors close behind them with another loud squeak and she barely has time to grab the overhead railing before they lurch into motion.

Jughead catches her eye and jerks his chin upwards; she nods in agreement. They both make their way upstairs to the third level where mercifully, there are no passengers; it’s a Tuesday night in October, so it’s unlikely anyone else will call for the bus tonight. Betty pauses next to Jughead as they stare down at the shifting beds instead of each other. Now, there’s a practical problem they hadn’t anticipated.

Their things are in Betty’s purse, on which she had put an Undetectable Extension Charm. Without using their wands to summon some dry clothes, they’re out of luck.

“Fucking Brits, it’s called a Sticking Charm,” he mutters under his breath before turning around, showing her his back. When he angrily yanks off the gaudy, decidedly un-Jugheadian robes he’d been wearing and starts to unbutton his shirt, her body finally catches up to her brain and she spins around.

Not that it completely gives him his privacy—she can still make out his body in the reflection of the dark window. She hurries to unwrap her soaked robes, laying them over the metal railing that forms the canopy of the nearest bed. Kicking her shoes off, she’s left shivering in her bra and panties. She ignores the thrill at the thought of Jughead seeing her nearly naked, same as she had during the past few weeks of pretending on-and-off to be his girlfriend.

Back in school, he had mostly ever known her as Betty Cooper, the girl who had a crush on his best friend Archie. Would he ever believe her if she told him those feelings had been gone for years? Would he ever believe her if she told him she’d started to have feelings for him in the months before they graduated? All those late nights in the library, studying for exams or trying to figure out the Gargoyle King’s next steps…did any of it disabuse him of the preconceived notions he had formed about her by third year? When it’d been easier to be the type of witch her mother demanded she be?

The stubborn sense of righteousness that has sustained her these past two days deflates. Betty knows she fucked up. “You were only part right,” she says, finally. In the reflection of the window, she sees Jughead pause, his pants halfway down his hips. “I shouldn’t have gone on that Quest without you. But I didn’t do it because I don’t trust you.”

His voice is rough—tired—when he replies, “Then _why_?”

“Because somewhere along the line I began to care about you as more than just a friend and a partner. And well, if this was one of Chic’s traps, then it’s personal, and I didn’t want you to be hurt because of—”

“Because of you? News flash, Betty, but stopping the Gargoyle King is personal to me for reasons that aren’t about Chic, or you. We’re supposed to be partners; that means we don’t let them break us apart.”

Just then, the bus makes two hairpin turns in the space of two seconds, sending Betty flying into Jughead’s waiting arms and then the two of them stumbling onto the nearest bed. When she blinks up at him, Jughead is above her, bracing some of his weight on his forearms. The blanket beneath her is scratchy.

And the rest of his body is very definitely lying in between her legs. Their knees bump together, his jeans bunched around his thighs, and one of his hands is tangled in her hair. His hips shift against hers, and she makes this noise in the back of her throat. The next thing Betty knows, he’s kissing her, hard.

Another turn causes the bed to slam backwards against the side of the bus, making Jughead’s weight press harder into the cradle of her thighs. Betty has no compunction about making appreciative noises, rocking against him.

With what had to be wandless magic, Jughead flips them around until he’s sitting up on the bed and Betty is straddling him. A few kicks later and his jeans are on the floor, although the motions make her rock in his lap. “Enjoying the view?” she asks throatily. This bra does do spectacular things for her cleavage, which is now at eye-level for him.

He only gives her an unrepentant grin before peppering her throat with bruising kisses and the occasional nip that has her shivering and arching against him. She gets him back, mouthing along the curve of his ear before scraping her teeth over his earlobe, eliciting a gasp and a low keening noise. Her hand carding through his hair knocks his crown beanie loose, but Betty catches it, holding it tight in her other hand.

It comes over her so quickly—she’s grinding the thin material of her panties against the hard ridge of his erection through his boxers, and with Jughead’s strong forearms wrapped around her back and cradling her bottom to help her rock harder against him, it isn’t long before Betty’s eyelids are fluttering shut and she’s letting out uncontrollable moans as her orgasm crests.

She clings to him, and to the hat squeezed in one fist, as he continues to buck against her, allowing her to draw the pleasure out for much longer. Finally, the shudders taper off and she’s left there with an uncomfortable coldness in the front panel of her underwear. Jughead’s watching her with awe, and Betty thinks she could get used to him looking at her like that.

She lets the fingers of her free hand graze the skin just past the elastic of his boxers.

“You don’t have to—”

She shushes him, pulling the beanie onto her own head. Was it her imagination, or did his eyes darken with approval? “Flip us back around, Juggie, please.”

His reply of “Yes, my Queen” positively drips with sarcasm.

The world spins once again until Betty’s on her back and Jughead is holding himself up above her. It’s undignified, she thinks, to spit in her palm instead of using a lubrication charm, but must needs. She pulls the elastic away and reaches down to curl her hand around him. There’s a huff against her ear, and a low groan.

It’s heady, the sense of absolute control she feels then as Jughead trembles against her. She jerks him off slowly but insistently, building him up until he’s so, so hard and the muscles in his arms are starting to shake. The Knight Bus is winding through traffic now, and the centrifugal force doing half the work for them.

“Come for me, my brave Hellcaster,” she whispers. The effect is immediate: he gasps and rocks his hips into her now wet hand. Betty kisses him softly, sweetly, as he pants and just about collapses on top of her.

“ _Merlin_ , Betts,” he groans against her shoulder before chuckling. “Has dirtier talk ever been had?”

That brings a giggle bubbling out of her. “Nope, never.” She shakes her head emphatically back and forth. Jughead doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to get dressed, let alone find another bed. Theirs slides every which way while they stare into each other’s eyes, getting used to this strange new frontier. Once the bed slides back over far enough, he does reach down to pull out a handkerchief from his jeans pocket; she uses it to wipe her hand and stomach.

“It looks good on you,” he says, adjusting the hat a fraction. “It looks right.”

“Well, I _am_ the Gryphon Queen, it’s only fair I should have a crown. And it’s only right that it should be yours.” Jughead boops her nose in reprisal before his expression turns serious.

“So, partners? In the Aurors, in life, all of it?”

She hums her assent. 

“All of it.”


End file.
